


Saga of the Scion

by Aurumite



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor-Student Relationships, verbosity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurumite/pseuds/Aurumite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his father dies for him, ten-year-old Owain is offered a chance at redemption (and cool fighting montages) when a mysterious sword master arrives from the north. Here begins the Saga of the Scion. (Not shippy, just heroic shenanigans. Don’t worry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue With a Good Hook

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, Tumblr's jackjerippher and roesart had a really cool headcanon about Lon'qu and Owain that explains the latter's myrmi-outfit and mixed style, and I fell in love with it and stole it to write a story about. Anything you don't like about this fic is something I changed and not something they came up with.

The last three days had passed very slowly. Mother slept a lot. Owain stayed locked in his room, ignoring when Inigo and Brady pounded on the door to his and Mothers’ chambers, pretending that he was in an impenetrable fortress. All Great Heroes needed their trying times of solitude. Especially after their failures.

It was hard for him to go to bed, even though he snuggled up with Mother each night, despite his protests of the last few weeks that Great Heroes did not need embarrassing things like hugs from their mother. That was wrong, now. He was no Great Hero. He and Father had just gone out to learn about the plants of the forest, since Father said his boy ought to know something practical after being raised in a fancy castle.

They had no idea the enemy had gotten so close to Ylisstol’s borders. Owain wore a kitchen pot on his head that day, ever eager to take after Father, even though Father supposedly stopped wearing pots ages ago. It had probably saved his life, judging by the arrow tip that had whacked it and dazed him. But he’d managed to run, like Father shouted for him to. Now every time Owain closed his eyes, he saw the arrows sprouting from his broad back.

He spent the endless days pouring through the thick, leather-bound storybooks he had stacked in his room, searching for scenarios where fathers had sacrificed themselves for sons. What had the sons done to avenge them? To reclaim their honour? To cleanse their guilt?

For the first time in his life, he couldn't find a tale that covered this. He was on his own.

After three days, Owain figured that his eyes were finally dry.

He wished he could be more like Mother. Mother never cried. When they brought home Frederick's dented shield, which the living soldiers had nonetheless polished to a mirror-like shine, she just skimmed its bright surface with her fingertips and murmured that he was finally resting. (Owain had cried a little, then. Sir Frederick had promised to teach him to saddle and ride a horse, when he returned, and what did it say about the strength of fate’s chains when a man like Frederick couldn’t keep his word?) And when Uncle Chrom set off to lead the troops, Mother just kissed the Exalt’s cheek and told him to be smart about things. (Owain had cried a little then, too. His uncle looked so noble in his white regalia, with Falchion girded loosely at his hip. It was too easy to imagine him as the king from one of his favourite tales, off to make the purest of sacrifices and bring peace to the kingdom at the cost of his life. But he mostly cried because Lucina cried, and he’d never seen that in his life, not even when she fell out of that tree a year ago and broke her wrist.)

Father made things no different. The pain was there, of course: he saw it strike Mother in the face like she'd been slapped. Her arms felt rigid when he wept into her shoulder, shuddering with his efforts to stop, torn between stories of heroes manfully crying out their grief in tempests and heroes bottling everything up to be strong for the people around them. In the end, he couldn't do either. He sobbed like a useless boy and Mother held things together.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts on the fourth day, while he had his nose in a tome about dragons and slaying them. Irritated, he stomped out of his room and into the receiving chamber, where he shouted at the door,

“Begone, foul Inigo!”

“Young man,” a voice barked back that was certainly not his boon companion, “you will let me in this instant!”

Guiltily, he opened the door. “Aunt Maribelle?”

As always, she was impeccably dressed, with perfectly set curls and polished boots. The way she looked him over made him self-conscious.

“Gods, when was the last time you had a bath? And even if you can’t draw the water, you’re old enough to brush your own hair and change your clothes, Owain! Shame on you, wallowing! Shame on both of you!”

“The Fearless Owain would never wallow!” he protested as Maribelle brushed right by him. “I am in fact in disguise, hoping to mask my natural soapy-clean smell so that I might—hey, don’t go in there! Mother is sleeping!”

“Don’t argue,” a voice whispered, and he peeked out into the hallway to see Brady leaning shyly against the stone corridor wall. “She’s on a mission.”

He turned back to see Maribelle enter Lissa’s chamber without even knocking and shut the door behind her. He and Brady exchanged a glance before they hurried after and pressed their ears to the thick wood.

“Yikes, Owain, you _do_ reek.”

“Silence! I seek the voice of my beloved mother!”

“Pathetic, I say!” Maribelle was saying. There was the harsh _zing_ of the golden rings that held up the curtains zipping over the line. A ray of sunlight gleamed under the door.

“Maribelle, please! We’ve been eating our meals and sleeping at night. I haven’t been myself, but I haven’t _neglected_ anything.”

“You should see the state of your boy’s hair.”

“You’ve always been too concerned with hair and how it looks!”

“ _This_ is the situation: your brother is gone, the throne is empty, and you must seat your delicate self there _today_. What do you think Donnel would say if he could see you in bed past noon! Your smile is what he fell in love with, darling, so where is it?”

Lissa was silent. Owain squirmed against the door, but a long time passed before he heard a high sob that Maribelle shushed into submission with odd gentleness. The scene was so perfect in his head that it had to be true: Lissa weeping in Maribelle’s arms, as quietly as she could.

“Mother can cry,” he whispered, feeling numb. He chanced a glance at Brady to see that his old friend was tearing up, too. But this time, Owain was the one dry-eyed. He had used up all his tears. Maribelle was right; Father wouldn’t want him and Mother lying awake together, staring at the ceiling and missing him so badly that they couldn’t speak or move or breathe. He’d want them to move right along— _It’s the order o’ things_ , he’d say.

The door opened so fast that the boys nearly fell through and into the razor-sharp spotlight of Maribelle’s glare. Mother was in the back of the room in one of her old dresses, a clean buttercup hue that matched her hair. Her corset was tight and her hair was in a neat coil on the top of her head. Owain realized his scenario wasn’t right: Mother hadn’t cried in her best friend’s arms, she cried while her best friend dragged her out of bed and pinched her ribs until she stood upright and dressed her for the day.

Or had she actually wept at all? Her eyes were pink but her face was dry. Owain still had no proof that Mother the Invincible was capable of breaking, and that came as a relief. But was it all right for him to keep relying on her during these troubling times? Should he, as the one who loved her most, not be the stronger of the two?

How did one become strong? How did one slay a dragon?

“You really should think about asking some old friends to stay,” Maribelle said. “Since Chrom is gone and so many have…departed.” Her fingers clenched each other primly, as if she’d taught herself to hold her own hand. “There’s still Miriel. Perhaps she would like to visit. Or you could send a letter inquiring about Lon’qu.”

“Lon’qu can’t come here.”

“Why ever not?”

“You _know_ why.”

Maribelle only raised her eyebrows. “That is his concern, darling, not yours. You never owed him anything.”

“You—”

She cut herself off and looked to Owain. He just stared back.

“How are you feeling, Mother?”

“Just fine, my love.” The way she smiled made him believe it.

“Leave the boys to me,” said Maribelle. “You find Lucina and the seneschal and see what needs to be done about this drafty old place.”

“I will,” she said, and gave Owain another smile. “You be good for Aunt Maribelle, all right?”

He saluted. “Yes, Mother! I will be _ferociously_ well-behaved!”

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Maribelle sighed, but she led him and Brady away.

“So…now what?” Brady whispered as they trailed behind her blooming skirts.

For once, Owain wasn’t sure what to say. A desire had planted its seed deep within him when he’d begun the book on dragon-slaying that morning, and now it was taking root, twisting itself between his ribs and anchoring against his spine.

He would learn the sword. He would become strong that way. He would become a true hero, a scion of legend, worthy of his father and his sacrifice. A man who could slice arrows out of the air before people felt the need to push him away and take them on his behalf. He would become a man who could protect his mother easily—not just with a blade, but with his bare hands! With his hands tied behind his _back_ , using only cleverness and sheer force of will! He would make them all proud!

…But first, he needed a weapon. And someone to teach him how to use it.

xxx

“Lucina!” He pounded hard on her door the next day. “Exalted Cousin! I beseech thee for aid!”

He was met with no response.

“I do not fear the Trial of the Closéd Door!” he proclaimed. “I shall wait here all night, if need be! On my knees, awake and vigilant in the moonlight, like a holy knight preparing for his most righteous combat against the forces of evil! I—!”

“Owain?” Lucina’s voice said, and he spotted her coming around the corner of the corridor. She carried no practice sword, but her hands and face were dirty and the hair at her temples was damp with sweat. “Do you need something?”

“Lucina! I beg of thee, teach me the sword!"

“Owain,” she repeated, as if to buy time, brushing past him to unlatch her door, “you are still young.”  
  
His hands clenched into fists. "And still weak. I have to become stronger."

She gave him a hard look of complete understanding over her shoulder. The space of a long breath passed.

"Very well,” she said. “But all I know how to teach is the royal style; Father's been the one training me." 

"I'll learn it. Whatever it takes."

Her lips quirked upward. "You've convinced me. Meet me at dawn tomorrow, out in the courtyard."

"I'll be warmed up before you even get there!" he promised. "You won't regret this, Lucina!"

xxx

Mother was not pleased when he showed up to breakfast with bruises.

"There's no reason to learn the sword, Owain!" she said with a heavy sigh. "I never wanted a child of mine to have to deal with such senseless violence. Why can't you just stay with your books? Become a scholar?"

"I can't be of any _use_ as a scholar! Lofty though the perch of the mind may be, justice needs an arm to deal it!"

"If it's use you're so concerned about, I'll teach you to heal. Maybe you have the gift."

Owain put down his fork and looked her right in the eye. "Even if I'd had a staff that day, I could not have saved Father. And if something like that should happen again, I will not be able to save myself or you. I won't allow that."

"When did you grow up?" she asked him with a faint smile. "Stop that. Go back to playing with stuffed animals."

He grinned and scarfed down his meal so he could find an off-duty knight or two to help him reinforce what Lucina taught him that morning.

xxx

Three months passed, and he and Mother still hadn’t been outside the castle walls. It was too frightening for both of them to face. Lightning never struck twice, or so the saying went, but it would be impossible to leave their haven and catch sight of the forest without remembering anew what had happened. A day after the fact, knights had come to the door to their chambers and promised them that those responsible had been done away with, but Owain knew it wasn't that simple.  
  
Untold enemies swarmed the world in impossible numbers; Uncle wouldn't have left if it weren't so. Tragedy wasn't like lightning. It could strike wherever it wanted and as many times as it pleased.

But did that mean he was to live in fear his entire life? No sir!

"Mother!" he declared one morning. "We must take a walk! It is imperative!"

She ruffled his hair. "You know what? I think you're right."

An hour later they were outside again with three knights, just in case. It was a beautiful summer day. The sky was cloudless and Mother hadn't stopped smiling the entire time. Even though it was painful to look at the forest, Owain tried to remember to see it the way Father wanted him to see it: not as the site of a slaughter, but a collection of life-giving trees and healing plants and delicious nuts and berries.

They finally came upon a meadow to the north, on the grounds behind the castle, and Mother did something he hadn't heard in months: giggle.

"Look at these wildflowers, Owain! Pretty things always find a way to happen, don't they?"

His response was to run ahead so he could pick her an armful, but he spotted something that made him pause.

"Mother, do you spy that mysterious figure?"

A man was coming toward them, striding with calm purpose through the tall grass. He wore a long coat and sash like Owain had only seen on paper in books about Valm, and a curved sword very unlike Falchion. His hair was black and messy and his face and forearms were sunburned.

"Halt!" Owain cried bravely to practice his booming Hero Voice, while the knights behind him slowly drew their own swords. "Who goes there?"

"Sheathe those," Mother whispered to their retinue.

He looked back over her shoulder at her. "What?"

He had to whip his head to follow her as she broke out into a run, right past him and over the field. He was sprinting after before he knew it.

"Mother? Mother! You said not to approach strangers! Woe to those who don't follow their own advice!"

His feet and mouth both stopped when Mother did. They were still several meters from the mysterious man, and he fixed her with the strangest, longest stare Owain had ever seen. The three of them stood through a moment of thick silence as if stuck in it.

"I came as soon as I heard," the man said finally. "Khan Basilio sends his condolences."

"Lon'qu." Mother's voice trembled. "What are you doing here?"

He looked extremely uncomfortable—so much so that Owain fidgeted from the look of it alone. Was it from being so sunburned?

"I know I'm...overstepping myself," the man said finally, in a soft voice. "But I know that in Ylisse, a widow and her child can go to her brother for support. But you...your brother is on the front lines now, and Frederick is dead, and I...I worried...so I thought...i-if you needed..."

Mother's light eyebrows slanted up. "A brother?"

"Yes."

" _You?_ "

"I know I would not be a particularly good one. But I had to at least ask—to find out if there was anything you or the boy needed."

"You _walked_ from _Regna Ferox_ to _ask me a question?_ Lon'qu, we haven't spoken in a decade!"  
  
"You seem displeased."

"Of course I'm displeased! You promised we'd..." She trailed off and gave him a shrewd look. "This makes it look like nothing at all has changed in all this time."

"Nothing has," he said quietly. "Not for me."

"Ooh, of all the nerve! I can take care of myself just fine, you know! I haven't forgotten the weight of an axe!"

"An _axe_?" Owain asked incredulously—surely not _Mother?_ —but he was soundly ignored as she ploughed on:

"Donnel dead hardly three months, and you march in like—"

"I'm not here for you!" the man said hotly, and gave a nod toward Owain, who was more confused than he'd ever been in his life. "I'm here for him." 

"What?" Owain asked, but he was ignored again when Lon'qu gave the answer to his question to Mother:

"I know what he needs. And there is no one around who can properly give it to him...is there."

Mother fell silent, and Owain found himself under the stranger's surprisingly intense gaze.

"You need power, don't you, boy. You need to learn how to protect the people you care for."

"How did you know that?" he asked, edging toward the safety of Mother's skirts. There was a sudden rush of pain through the man's eyes, so fast that Owain wondered if he'd just imagined it.

"You came all this way to be his teacher?" Lissa asked. Her voice was quavering again. "That's it?"

"That's it. If he feels like learning. No one is blind to how this war is going; we will need to train everyone strong enough to lift a weapon. At first I was sure one of the old Shepherds would be teaching him, but...they're nearly all gone, aren't they."

Mother nodded.

"Then he can learn from a Feroxi Champion, if he wants. It might be his best chance at surviving…whatever comes."

"A what?" Owain cried.

A Champion, Chosen One of the Feroxi Khans themselves? Impossible! Indescribable! Intrepid adventurousness by now outweighed any fear. He approached Lon'qu slowly before reaching out to touch the simple but well cared-for sheath at his side.

"I have a teacher already," he said. "My Exalted cousin, Lucina. But if I have two teachers, and learn two styles, and spend twice as much time fighting...won't I become stronger twice as fast?" He looked up at Lon'qu and tugged on the sheath. "You're really a Champion? You really know how to use this?"

It was too good to be true. Lon'qu just stared down impassively.

"Anyone who has ever asked me that has ended up dead."

"Ooh." Owain shivered. "That was such a good line. Mother, he's witty! May he stay? I promise to practice every day!"

He wasn't sure why Lon'qu and Mother were so tense, but the idea of learning from a Champion was too good to pass up. It was for Mother's own good, if Owain learned well!

"Lon'qu," she said. "What if I _do_ need something from you?"  
  
“Then I will give it, of course.” Owain saw Lon’qu’s weight shift backward, as if preparing a retreat, before he frowned and added, “If it’s within my power.”

 _Does Mother scare him?_ he had to wonder then, but she started to speak and it broke his thoughts.

“You promised we would be friends, even after we parted ways. But I haven’t heard from you in all this time.”

“I figured you didn’t need to,” he muttered. “You had Donnel, Chrom, Maribelle, Frederick—all the Shepherds.”

“But now I don’t. Only Maribelle is left, and she already speaks of leaving to help.”

Owain filed that one away to tell Brady, later. It was news to him.

“I’m here now, Lissa,” Lon’qu said softly. “I assumed you didn’t want my friendship any longer, but you may certainly have it. Without complications.”

“You mean it?”

Lon’qu just glowered at her as if offended she’d even question his words. A wavering smile broke across her face and she opened her arms to him.

“Lon’qu, may I—”

 _Hug you_ , Owain thought she was going to say, based on the body language, so the end of her sentence surprised him:

“—hold your hand?”

He hesitated, but finally gave a nod and extended it. She reached out and clasped his fingers between hers without coming any closer.

“Let’s go back to the castle,” she said.

They began to walk back, Owain placing himself between Lon’qu and Mother, which his new teacher seemed to appreciate, for some reason, for his shoulders finally relaxed. They still bantered over his head like whatever time they held between them hadn’t passed at all:

“I can’t believe you thought I’d come here for something like _that,_ Lissa. Of all the nerve, and with my phobia—”

“In my defence, it’s always been impossible to tell what you’re thinking with all that grump on your face!”

Suddenly, in the sunlight, between his newest acquaintance and the person he’d known the longest, between the woman who gave him life and the man who would teach him death, Owain had the strangest feeling wash over him. It was light and sparkling, like inspiration, but it rocked his heart in a stormy sea at the same time.

 _A premonition?_ he wondered as he looked up at the castle looming steadily closer. _Am I to take this as a sign? And if so, of what?_

But the emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.


	2. Epic Training Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Sword Hand makes its first appearance.

The first day was the hardest.

Lon'qu left the castle on the night of their fated acquaintance and found lodging somewhere in Ylisstol, promising to be waiting in the courtyard every afternoon for Owain's lessons. Owain excitedly invited Mother to watch, but her lips became a thin line and she shook her head.

He'd been training with Lucina for a while already, but Lon'qu was much stricter than his noble cousin, and after only a few simple drills his heart was racing and sweat was pouring down his face. He was swaying on his feet by the time their spar began—beginning with a bow to honour his opponent, as Lon’qu instructed.

Perhaps, he thought as he gasped for breath and was snapped at to react faster, despite his burning muscles, he had bitten off more than he could chew. Several hours of swordplay in the morning had made him sore enough. To take on several more in the afternoon made his fingers tremble and his response times dwindle like candles reaching the ends of their wicks. Lon'qu's blows came harder and harder.

But he would not lose! If he was to be the Chosen One, he would need to take advantage of every opportunity! Train on mountaintops for days on end, taking only dew and determination for his sustenance!

...He wasn't sure where he'd find a mountaintop, but he could always improvise!

With a shout and a sudden burst of speed, he whacked Lon'qu's blade out of the way and ducked under, throwing himself forward to attack—

—but when he thrust his arm out, he spasmed from knuckles to shoulder and dropped the weapon. His teacher rewarded him with a hard smack across the shoulder blades from the flat of his own sword, sending him sprawling.

"My hand," Owain gasped as he tried to push himself up and his right arm buckled. It was shaking as if it had a life of its own, still wracked with little spasms. He tried to grasp the hilt of his wooden practice sword, to continue the bout, but couldn't close his fingers around it. "My sword hand."

"You've cramped. Too many hours of training today, I'd wager. The weakness will fade in time, as you spend more days practicing."

Owain managed to sit and cradled his right arm in his left. "This is no weakness! My sword hand is...twitching! Twitching for justice! No, revenge! No, twitching to fight all night! This is merely a glimpse of my prodigious power, Master Lon'qu! _Can't...contain...my potential!"_

"What an odd boy," he said as he crouched to give it a look. "Can you pick up your sword?"

Owain stubbornly tried again, but couldn't seem to manage it. His face burned with shame. Failed already, and it was only his first day with the Champion. Lon'qu sat beside him with a heavy sigh and reached for his arm.

"That's it," Owain said, "just cut the whole thing off. Exact the blood price for the time of yours that I have wasted. I shall fight with my left hand from now on or I shall not fight at all."

Lon'qu was silent. The next thing Owain knew, firm and surprisingly gentle fingers were kneading the complicated muscles of his hand. They worked up his wrist and forearm.

"This will help," Lon'qu said. "If you rest now, we should be able to continue later."

They sat in silence for a while, and Owain just closed his eyes and marveled at how the pressure was calming the trembling in his arm and easing the pain. He was never one to sit still or quietly for long, however, and soon all his questions from yesterday afternoon were bubbling up:

"So how did you meet Mother? Was it a fruitful happenstance? Star-crossed destiny?"

"It was Chrom's fault," Lon'qu answered. "I was traveling with the army already, he wanted her guarded, and I had all the qualifications."

"Wow! Hand-selected by my Exalted uncle! You must have been the very strongest!"

He shook his head and shrugged. "The fastest, maybe. The least busy."

"Tell me, what was it like?" Owain tried to clench his cramped fist, and this time was successful. "Protecting somebody? Is it euphoric?"

"It wasn't just anybody. It was Lissa. So it was mostly just...annoying."

He tasted the word like he had something stuck between his teeth, but Owain laughed.

"I knew it! Mother is too much of a free spirit to have a dark shadow like you stalking her all the time. O, riotous princess! I bet she tried to escape!"

"Every day."

"You must tell me more!" he urged. "Tell me all about Mother as a girl!"

The sword master was quiet for a long while as he worked. "I'm...not sure how to. She moved too fast for words. She was very...bright. She could make anyone smile."

"Even you?" Owain asked, wide-eyed. Lon'qu snorted but his lips did not quirk upward.

"Especially me. Eventually she got it into her head that we should be friends, so then she started following me. I wasn't keen on that."

"Why not?" he demanded. "Mother is my best friend in all the world! She's great at it!"

"It wasn't that simple. I had...baggage."

Owain gasped. "A mysterious past to match the mysterious man! Lon'qu, you hardly need my embellishing. You're exciting enough on your own."

Lon'qu rolled his eyes and stood. "Back on your feet. Time for parry-riposte drills."

xxx

He spent his days training until he literally couldn't lift a sword any longer, and all his nights reading. He still searched for stories where fathers sacrificed themselves for sons and the sons found a way to redeem themselves, but was still unable to find anything in castle's entire library. It seemed no son in history had ever been so useless. So shameful.

But Father gave him inspiration. It gave him a reason to get up in the morning, even though he knew the day would be filled with cuts and bruises.

"Can't you be more gentle with him?" Lissa asked one day when Lon'qu walked Owain back to their rooms. His right eye had swelled nearly shut and he was pretty sure that whole side of his face was purple.

"No," he said at the same time Lon'qu did.

"His enemies will show him no mercy."

"I'm going to be strong for you, Mother."

He was the man of the house, and there was no use in wallowing in his self-hate. He had to become the hero he wanted to be. The hero Donnel was. He spent hours up late, reading in secret while Mother thought he was asleep, memorizing clever quips and writing down exciting names in his journal to remember for later. He taught himself the soul of every sword and lance and axe, the breed of every knight's horse, the colour of every dragon's fire or poisoned breath. If his saga had truly begun, he wanted all the details to be perfect.

Besides. Maribelle had been talking more and more often about leaving to join the war effort, which meant Brady was sniffling more. And Lucina was so serious during their lessons and spent so much time in the great hall staring at the portrait of Uncle. Stories always made Owain smile. What if he could mash all the best parts of them together to create his own, and to make them characters? Would they not smile again, then?

As the weeks passed, his arms and lungs got stronger and he learned bigger words. He began jotting down little stories of his own before bed. No word came from Chrom. Mother was waiting by the window every sunset when Owain returned from his training, her hair bronzed by the orange light, her eyes straining for the sign of a messenger's horse. Lon'qu started going on walks with her around the courtyard in the evenings, and then around the corridors when the weather grew brisk. Owain joined them sometimes, but usually went off on his own to find his friends, or to immerse himself in more epic tales of great heroes to see what their virtues could teach him.

By the middle of autumn, his breath clouded the air when he went to meet Lucina at dawn. Frosty grass crunched under their feet. She settled into her stance primly, feet spread and spine straight in the stance of the Exalted style.

Thanks to Lon'qu, Owain's own stance was a little different. His knees were supple, his thighs tense as springs ready to launch. He held his blade like a Chon'sin native, tip up and ready for slicing, rather than the stab-first technique Lucina had taught him. His left hand clenched and unclenched at his side, ready to aid him in the Feroxi fashion, adding a surprise element of hand-to-hand combat if his blade should fail him.

Lucina was stone-faced, as always. Owain smiled.

"Lightning Master-Strike!" he cried as he burst into action. She blocked and parried; he raised his sword just in time. "Glaring Iceburg Fortress!"

"How in the world is a wooden pratice sword anything like an iceburg?"

"I'm just practicing for when I get a real sword!" He threw his weight forward—"Silver Arrow of Piercing Light!"—and she side-stepped.

"Owain, you sound ridiculous. You read too many stories."

"You," he said with another thrust, "don't read enough."

There was her smile. He'd nearly forgotten it.

"What use do I have for reading? With Father gone, I must be my own heroine."

"Nay!" Owain argued. "I am the protagonist of this tale! You are but the sidekick to my hero!"

"We'll see about that!"

She knocked him flat. It was glorious.

xxx

Lon'qu was less amused with his creative names.

"The blending of the styles I can teach you and the style of Lucina will be useful," he said that afternoon, "but shouting out your attacks only foretells your intentions."

"But I've come up with so many great names," Owain complained. "I have thirty whole pages in my book—for swords and bows and staves and anything you could want! Mother likes 'Golden Summer Sun-Bringer' for hers."

"Less talking. More fighting."

xxx

Another week passed before he asked Lon'qu the name of his own sword. They were sitting on a bench in the courtyard after his lesson, resting and watching the sunset. Owain was trying to fortify himself against the freeze of the coming months, and after so much time in Regna Ferox, Lon'qu seemed like he hardly noticed the cold nights at all.

"Does a sword need a name, Owain?" he asked instead of answering.

"Of course it does! It has a soul!"

"When it breaks, does it go to Heaven?"

Owain quirked an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. Come on, you're a Master! A Champion! You know everything there is to know about swords."

Lon'qu was silent for a long time. Just when Owain thought he was going to be ignored, his teacher murmured,

"Mantis."

"What?" Never had Owain been so utterly disappointed. "Really? That's not very...fierce."

"It has a very special meaning to me."

Lon'qu unsheathed the blade and Owain studied it with him for a while before he ventured,

"Why?"

"I have always been fascinated by insects. By the time I got this sword and knew how to use it properly, I was nearly obsessed with the praying mantis. The females are so powerful. They have claws just as the males do. And I thought...if every human girl was given a blade, as we give our boys..." His knuckles went white over the hilt. "The butterfly was my favourite. The mantis was hers. She thought the praying made it look peaceful; we were too young to know it was a battle stance."

"Lon'qu? Are you okay?" His teacher looked pale in the low light. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing that matters any longer." He stood. "Come. Let's go back to your mother, before she wonders where we've been."

There was a story here, Owain realized as he followed. One he wouldn't find in a book any more than he'd find his own. And he was determined to figure out what it meant and how it ended.

xxx

As the weeks went on and the new year passed, however, Lon'qu showed no signs of opening up.

Owain was starting to feel quite poorly about most aspects of his life: he enjoyed his sword fighting lessons but felt he wasn't making any progress, and Lucina and Lon'qu both only had criticism for him. All essential and kindly given, of course, but nothing that made him feel like he would ever be any good. Mother still didn't smile very often and the one letter they'd gotten from Uncle was hastily scribbled and very short. It contained no news of how the army was faring and mostly just hoped they were well. They couldn't write back, since Chrom would be on the march and a return letter might never find him.

The letter Lucina got was marginally longer but just as hurried. Her mouth was always a straight line, even though Owain had faith. Uncle was the Exalt, after all. The most heroic man to ever live, outside Donnel and his Trusty Pot. Uncle was invincible.

Things all compounded one night, after Owain's lesson with Lon'qu, when he remembered what they were having to eat that night.

"And I was so hungry, too," he groaned as he set his wooden sword down and began to stretch out his tired muscles. "This is the worst day ever."

Lon'qu shot him a critical look. "Are you not going right to your supper?"

"Yeah, but we're having bear tonight. I can get it down, but it always tastes funny."

His master's eyebrows knit. "Bear for supper in Ylisstol? Only country folk eat that."

"Mother requests it sometimes."

"Your mother doesn't even like bear." Lon'qu was sounding more confused by the second.

"She says it reminds her of better days."

"I see." Lon'qu waited for Owain to finish his stretches and then looked away. "You could eat with me tonight, if you like."

"In town?" With his awe-inspiring sword master? "Can I really?"

Mother gave permission right away, even though she also gave Lon'qu an odd look over Owain's head.

"He will be safe," was all the man said in reply, and then he was leading Owain away.

It was exciting to be in the city, especially once they left the wider and cleaner streets that Owain, Inigo, and Brady had been allowed to explore. The air was filled with the smell of cooked meat and smoke, and on every side merchants cried their wares. Women rushed home with loaves of bread or baskets of clothes and children hardly younger than Owain were underfoot. Everybody had dark circles under their eyes. He caught the gaze of one boy on his practice sword and realized without them exchanging a single word that he was not the only one who'd lost a parent and sworn revenge.

Lon'qu finally showed him through a narrow door. The hallway was dark, but off to the side was a kitchen with a cozy fire burning.

“My apartment is on the top floor,” he said, “but we all share the kitchen down here.” He motioned for Owain to grab a seat at the humble wooden table and then ducked into the pantry and came out with a sack of potatoes.

"So what're you going to make?" Owain asked with wide eyes. Lon'qu only smiled.

An hour and many loud stomach-grumbles later, plus several questions about cooking on Owain's part that his teacher patiently answered, he was handed a plate laden with fried potatoes and dumplings and water chestnuts and was ordered to follow Lon'qu upstairs. He tasted a slice of potato while the man's back was turned and burned his tongue.

Lon'qu's room was very small and sparse, but neat: just a bed, a dresser, a wooden chair, and three swords lined neatly by the window. Lon'qu sat in the chair and Owain elected to sit by his feet on the floor, afraid he'd spill if he hopped onto the bed.

"Is this what people eat every day in Regna Ferox?" he asked.

"Potatoes, yes. The rest is more common in Chon'sin."

"What's that like?" he couldn't help but ask. Books told him so little about the other continent. "Do you have any stories?"

Lon'qu had plenty. Slowly and quietly, in between bites, he wove surprisingly well-told tales, both sorrowful and wondrous. Owain heard about the dirty slums of the city and the women that sometimes threw him bread, the hot summers where he collected rare butterflies, the stories every child grew up reciting about dragons with lion manes and princesses in the stars. There was a girl named Ke'ri in a lot of them. By the end of it, Lon'qu seemed more legendary than ever: growing up starving and ending up a Champion. He'd travelled all over the world just as Owain hoped to do, and had way more true stories to tell than Owain did. He didn't even do any fun embellishing.

"What happened to Ke'ri?" he asked when their plates were clean. "Did you leave her behind after all that when you moved across the sea?"

Lon'qu stood up from his chair. "It's time to bring you home."

Owain wasn't sure what he'd said wrong, but he kept his mouth shut on the way back. The streets were quieter now and people were pulling their shutters closed, readying for bed. He shuffled his feet when they reached the castle's gates.

"Thank you for dinner, Revered Teacher. Your stories shall nourish my spirit just as your fried potatoes nourished my body."

Lon'qu cracked the slightest smile—the first Owain had ever caused. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah." He turned to go and then blurted, "I know you're not Ylissean, but I'm really glad you're here."

And then, for the first time outside of correcting his stance or massaging out the cramps in his arm, Lon'qu touched him. Just a short ruffling of his hair, so quick it was over before he could believe it, but it happened.

"Me too," said Lon'qu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that if you fence for 5+ hours without a break and you're new to swords, your hand and arm will indeed cramp too badly to make a fist. Not that I learned that the hard way. 
> 
> Thank you so much to all the people who have already been reading and leaving me your thoughts. I had no idea that anyone besides the friends who started all this would have any interest!


	3. Love Triangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Lissa gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone brought to my attention that there's a plot hole because Basilio is still alive. My very educated response is that Basilio is still alive because BASILIO. That is all.

The weeks swept by like Mother's skirts, quiet and comfortable, until it was summertime again. Owain grew three entire inches and his body settled into its grueling routine. His muscles stopped cramping. He could do a lot more push-ups and run a lot farther. He still never beat Lucina or Lon'qu, which was discouraging, but he'd definitely come up with some tricky moves, borrowed from their teachings and what he read about in stories, that confused them. On the battlefield, he knew, that would be helpful.

It was odd to think that one day he'd be there, in the far-off horizon of "battlefield", a fully-grown grey silhouette over the bloodstained grass. He'd be strong someday. He'd be a hero eventually. And everyone who had ever hurt his family would pay.

In the middle of the summer he turned eleven. To his surprise, all his friends were waiting in the courtyard with Lucina at dawn.

“This was the only surefire way to find ya,” Brady said, slipping into the street speech he liked to use when Aunt Maribelle wasn’t listening. “All ya do is train, these days. But here. We all know what ya like.”

He pulled a thick book from behind his back. A nice book, covered in tooled letter and packed with gilded illuminations in every margin. Owain was so touched that he hugged it to his chest.

“How did you get such a thing? This is the nicest book I’ve ever seen.”

“We all pitched in.” Brady shuffled his feet and Lucina looked away with an innocent smile.

“My boon companions,” Owain managed, “I deserve nothing so nice. But I shall read it so often that I’ll commit every single word—even footnotes!—into my memory; this I swear!”

He got lots of hugs and happy birthdays afterward, which made him grin, but when most of them had gone and only Brady and Lucina remained, the former drew a little nearer.

“The rest don’t know exactly why I picked this one,” he said in a low voice. “They just helped because it was pretty and had lots of dragons in the pictures. But look through it a second, will ya?”

Owain was confused but obeyed, thumbing through the first few pages and scanning the text. It started out comfortably enough: a young hero, gifted with a magic sword but without any skill as of yet, set out on a journey to…

To avenge his father, who had died for him.

Brady was looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

“It’s what ya were lookin’ for, wasn’t it?” he asked, and Owain flung himself at him and hugged him tightly around the neck. He stayed like that until he felt Brady’s eyelashes fluttering against his temple, blinking back tears.

“Stop. Y’know how I get.”

So Owain plopped himself right down on the ground to begin the tale he’d been so hungry for. Brady and Lucina settled near so they could see the pictures while he read aloud to them, all morning long.

xxx

By the afternoon, he was ready for his daily lesson with Lon’qu, but his teacher surprised him by showing up at his room.

“There will be no lesson today,” he said.

Owain frowned. “I must practice every day to obtain ultimate hero-ness. You said so yourself.”

“Not…exactly in those words. But come. You’ve earned a break.”

“Where are we going?” he asked as Lon’qu turned his back.

“To do what a boy your age should be doing, rather than learning the sword.”

“Let me come, too!” Mother emerged from her own room, looking oddly sprightly. She had been drooping like a daisy during a drought, lately, as the anniversary of Father’s death grew closer. “We must take knights, though.”

“You don’t trust me?” Lon’qu asked. Owain took his hand.

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. Lon’qu raised his eyebrows in understanding and the three of them left without another word.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the sun, catching bugs with nets while Mother wandered off to hum and pick flowers. The knights, all hardly old enough to be squires while the men were off at war, loitered in a group and kept their distance.

Lon’qu knew a great deal about every specimen Owain could bring him: how the orange butterflies migrated south each autumn as far as the isle where the fabled Outrealm was, how the praying mantis would slay and eat her husband once he’d satisfied her, how the fuzzy bees bit instead of stung and how the bright yellow wasps were so spiteful that they’d sting even though stinging killed them.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched a yellow moth climb up Lon’qu’s arm and the sword master close his eyes contentedly at its tickling. His teacher was supposedly ferocious in combat, and harsh during lessons, but there was an undeniable gentleness to him. It made Owain wonder how he got into the business of killing.

When the sun began to set, they made a flower crown for Mother together, who giggled when she saw them at work. Owain handed it to Lon’qu, figuring he should put it on her head since he was tall enough, but Lon’qu wordlessly handed it back and Mother crouched so Owain could do the deed.

“Are you sure it isn’t my birthday?” she teased.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t think of you, Mother.”

“My sweet boy.” She touched his cheek. “Somehow, I’m always thought of, it seems. I’m very lucky.”

“It has nothing to do with luck,” said Lon’qu. “It is your kindness.”

“Yeah!” Owain always preferred more elaborate and flowery ways of saying things, but something about how direct Lon’qu always was struck right to the core of an emotion, sometimes. He made a mental note to remember that for the dialogue in his own book. Mother stood, a little pink.

Almost a year ago, he realized, they’d walked across this field and back toward the castle together for the first time. He was so much happier now than he was then. He hadn’t had a day this good since…well, since the day before Father was killed.

“Thank you,” he said, and Mother ruffled his hair, and Lon’qu squeezed his shoulder.

xxx

The next morning, Mother was up and about at dawn, when Owain was just leaving to meet Lucina.

“Farewell, sweet mother,” he said. “I am off to duel my Exalted Cousin for all our noble honour once again.”

“All right,” she said, pleasantly enough, but that look flashed across her face again—the look that had become so common. Owain wasn’t sure what it was. Sharper than sorrow. Maybe distaste. Hesitantly, he leaned his practice sword against the wall.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to come watch? I’ve been training for almost a year, now, and you haven’t attended a single practice. I’m sure I’ll fight much better knowing my revered mother is around for me to make her proud.”

She heaved a big sigh and sank into the window seat to look for a sign of Chrom or his messenger yet. “I don’t ever want to watch you spar, Owain.”

“Why not?” He couldn’t help but feel hurt. “This is important to me. You know that.”

She looked at him, then. "Why not? Because I had to watch everybody I ever loved pick up a sword and swing it about like a big idiot and get themselves killed. Just look at the list: my father, Chrom, Frederick—all the Shepherds but me and Maribelle, because we chose healing. And the rest were killed because of war all the same, like Emm and your father.” She took a deep breath. “It isn't right. It isn't fair. Why couldn't anyone live in peace? Why couldn't anyone just put their weapons down? And now you're part of the cycle, my own baby boy. You're doing the exact same thing, and you never had any choice in the matter.”

“Mother,” he said gently.

“It's kill or be killed; I understand. I’m grateful to Lucina and Lon’qu for teaching you to survive. But I still hate it. I wanted better for you."

He kissed her cheek. And picked up his practice sword and left.

xxx

Mother began leaving their rooms in the evenings.

At first, Owain tried not to worry. She probably just wanted time to think about things. No one had heard about Uncle in a long time and sometimes Lon'qu gave her odd looks, like there was something to be concerned about that only he could see.

But the nights were black, and Mother hated when the sun went down. Owain knew there was nothing better than a dark summer sky to think sad thoughts under, wrapped up in silky shadows like a spider's prey, but that had never been like Mother. She preferred light and warmth and long walks to melt her sadder moods.

So one night, after he heard the main door to their chambers close, Owain slid out of bed and followed her.

The stone floor was cold against his bare feet, but he ignored it, focusing wholly on stealth. He tried to move like Uncle, panther-like, but as silently as Lon'qu always did. It worked. Mother didn't notice him, and inadvertently led him all the way up to the battlements. He stayed behind the main wall, out of the wind, but she wandered to the edge and looked down over the moat.

She stayed like that for a long time, just watching the night. It made Owain sad to see her like that, because the moonlight streaked through the lines on her face and made her look entirely too old, but he was afraid to run out and hug her in case she scolded him for being out of bed. Finally, when she sighed and turned to head back for the night, he had to scurry ahead to keep from getting caught. But he swore to follow her each night after that, just in case she needed him.

She never seemed to, for three nights afterward, so he merely kept watch and then raced back to their rooms when she tired of the moonlight. He managed to make it under the covers just in time to hear her door click shut, and in the morning she was as chipper as ever. But the fourth night, as he crept behind her, as soon as her usual spot was in sight, he had to cover his mouth to stifle a gasp and Mother stopped in her tracks.

Lon'qu was already out on the ramparts, leaning against the battlement wall.

Mother watched his back for a moment and then said a quiet, "Hey."

He jolted and whirled to face her, hand straying to his hip, but relaxed again when he recognized her. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Yeah, but." She toyed with her fingers. "I miss him a lot."

A hesitation.

"May I keep you company?" he asked.

A longer hesitation. A nod.

Mother crossed the battlement to stand at Lon'qu's side. They were quiet for so long that Owain nearly fell asleep, but then Mother said,

"I wish you could hug me for just a moment. Have you really not gotten any better, since the war? It just isn't healthy."

"How could I have gotten better, Lissa?"

"I was so sure"--She wrung her hands again--"I mean, you're so great, I was sure you'd find somebody just as great in Regna Ferox. Finally learn to be comfortable. Settle down and have a kid like everyone else."

"I didn't want anybody else."

"Even now?"

"Even now," he murmured.

Owain's fists clenched in the thick shadows as all the pieces clicked together. The sunburned quest from the Feroxi lands, the long glances, the evening walks!

Lon'qu was after his innocent, widowed mother!

How _could_ he? Mother trusted him! _Owain_ trusted him! He was about to burst from his hiding place and challenge his mentor to a duel right there atop the windy, moonlit ramparts, but Mother spoke again.

"You promised me this wouldn't be complicated."

"It isn't. We're friends, I teach Owain, and I keep my feelings to myself. Very simple."

"But doesn't it hurt you?"

"Would staying up north be better? Watching the end coming from below and counting down to the end of my days, alone and without purpose? There is no one left for me to challenge on Basilio's behalf; all the good warriors are taking their part in the wars. And Basilio and I have considered joining them. But...could I not be of service to you both, first? Give myself something useful to do before we throw our lives away?"

"Lon'qu," she said gently, "you know I'm never going to feel the same way. And when I told you this years ago, despite promising to remain my dear friend, it still clearly affected you so badly that you thought I didn't want to hear from you at all in the future. That conversation hurt the both of us, I think. It can't be good for you to be around us like this."

"It's worth it for Owain's sake." He shifted and mumbled, "He's growing on me."

That almost made Owain's righteous fury slip away, almost made him want to run out and hug the man around the waist. Almost.

"He's a pretty fantastic kid," said Mother with a smile in her voice. "I was actually meaning to ask you...well, I guess I _shouldn't_ ask now. For you to move into the castle. So you can be close enough for Owain to see you whenever he needs you."

"Owain is strong. He needs a sword from me and nothing more."

"That's not true." There was another long pause. "I can't ask you to be his father. That's not what I want and not what he wants, either. But he has nobody to show him how a good man should act. All the men that could've are dead."

"Don't ask this of me."

"Where else am I going to find a role model for him?" she demanded. He fixed her with a cool look.

"You, Princess, can be very dense. He will become a good man because you are a good woman."

 _Damn right_ , Owain thought darkly. Mother was all he needed, and no one was replacing his father!

But gods, hadn't it been nice? Having someone else around who could answer his questions and teach him about the world? Someone who cared about him? Was it not healing his own heart, to put its beating to use once again?

He was so confused that he stumbled back to his room without waiting to hear the end of the conversation. That decision tortured him. Mother didn't come back and for hours he stared at the ceiling, feeling sick, wondering if Lon'qu was agreeing to move closer, wondering if they were kissing in their weak loneliness, wondering if Father was upset to see it up in Paradise.

xxx

The next morning, Owain was furious. And anger, he learned the hard way, was distracting.

"What is the matter with you?" Lucina asked after he'd made yet another stupid mistake. She lowered her practice sword and he lowered his eyes.

"Nothing. It's just that usually my mind is as calm and clear as a springtime lake. Today my thoughts flow like a regular man's. I must practice anew my impeccable meditative techniques."

"Owain, I'm serious."

"Less talking, more fighting," said Owain. It was the first quip that sprung to mind, and struck him as delightfully clever and brusque, but he remembered too late that it was something Lon'qu often said, and he hated himself for it.

xxx

That afternoon, when he spotted Lon'qu in the courtyard, his fingers tightened over the wooden hilt in his hand. He wished his training was over and he was a man and he had a real sword to use.

This wasn't fair. Mother was still in mourning. It hadn't even been a year. Owain wanted a father, but he wanted _his own_ back. Not this imposter. Not this conniving, backstabbing ruffian.

"Is something wrong?" Lon'qu asked.

"As if you don't know!"

Lon'qu only looked at him. He decided he'd start the lesson by himself, without a bow, and charged forward, aiming a blow to his teacher's middle with all his might. Lon'qu blocked, but only barely, the line of his mouth sinking into a practiced frown.

"You are the student. You do not say when the fight begins or ends. Nor do you forget to bow and honour your opponent."

"I'll be no student of yours!" He resumed his furious whacking. "Nor will I bow! No longer! I'm here to duel for my mother's honour and nothing more!"

Lon'qu stopped blocking, and Owain landed a hard hit to his forearm that he felt a savage joy in. But the man didn't even flinch.

"What does Lissa have to do with this?"

"Does _everyone_ take me for a fool?" he demanded. "I see your nefarious ulterior motives! I know what you're here for!"

"Nefarious?"

"I was there, last night! I heard what you said, you _dastard!_ "

"You know not what you speak, boy."

Lon'qu's eyes were suddenly sharp as a wildcat's, and his voice was low and dangerous, but Owain was too angry to care.

"You're using her! You're all she has in her time of grief so you stepped in to make her love you! That's not fair! And I--to think I actually _liked_ you! You were just being nice to me to get closer to Mother!"

He swung again, and this time Lon'qu grabbed the wooden tip and wrenched the sword right out of his hands.

"Never use a sword to exact judgement unless you have proof."

"Mother didn't come back last night! What else was I to think?"

"You might have trusted my respect for her and her love for your father!" Lon'qu snapped. "We waited for the sun to come up because it lifts her spirits, and we talked. Nothing more. I couldn't do more even if she _were_ unfaithful, which she isn't!"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You really haven't figured it out?"

Owain tried. The tenseness in Lon'qu's posture, the way he jerked when Mother surprised him, the careful space between them. He assumed these were all symptoms of reining back love.

"I am _afraid of women_ ," Lon'qu said finally, heatedly. "I fell for your mother many years ago and it _terrified_ me. Trust me, I never wanted this to happen. I can hardly bear a friendly pat on the shoulder, and that's better than I used to be. You have nothing to fear from me, Owain."

"But...but..." His lines of logic were faltering. "Women? _How?_ Why?"

He tried to imagine being too afraid to let Lucina correct his grip on his hilt and couldn't. And what about all his adventures with Cynthia and Morgan? Lon’qu only glowered, so Owain switched to his next question:  

"Why else would you come to stay here, if you’re afraid, if not to overcome that and win her love? In the stories, men like you pursue the people they love to the ends of the earth, until they finally win love back."

Lon'qu snorted. "That's not love. That's stalking. If someone says no, the answer is no."

Owain's jaw dropped. Suddenly, the unshakably resolute romantic heroes he knew seemed less chivalrous and more annoying.

"The real reason I came here?” Lon’qu continued. “It was you. When I heard about your father I worried for Lissa, certainly. But I was most concerned because…I'd heard she had a child." Lon'qu paused and looked away, as if wrestling with himself, but finally finished: "I lived my life without either parent…and suffered greatly for it."

There was silence. It hurt. 

Owain reached out and took his hand. "This saddens me to hear. I have misjudged you, Master.”

“I suppose, in your shoes, I would be upset too. This is not an easy situation.”

“But Mother is safe?”

“Extremely safe.”

“And…you actually do like me? It wasn't a ruse?"

Lon'qu squeezed gently and let go. "I despise ruses."

"Then everything you done, you have done for my benefit. I am not worthy."

"Not yet," said Lon'qu with a small smile as he handed back the practice sword. "Less talking. More fighting."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to disclose this here since Owain will never figure it out: the reason Lon'qu was still chillin' at the castle late at night was because he just couldn't muster up the will to walk all the way home. Alone. Again. So he kind of wandered and tried to find the strength, and Lissa (and Owain) found him instead. 
> 
> Halfway done!


	4. Tragic Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which there are sleepovers, stories, and the striking of tragedy.

A week later, Owain overheard the beginning of the end, coming back sweat-drenched and grinning from another long day of sword-fighting. He heard Aunt Maribelle’s no-nonsense voice through the cracked door and Mother’s more frantic one.

“I can’t bring myself to stay behind any longer. It is unbecoming of a woman of my stature to stay idle.”

“Maribelle, you can’t leave.”

“You’ll have Lon’qu to look after you, darling. You don’t need me.”

“It’s not me I care about! Maribelle, why can’t you just stay here, where it’s safe? They already have healers!”

“Not enough, it seems.”

“What about Brady?”  

“I…” She paused, which was unlike her, and Owain saw a sliver of her fidget in her sharp pink riding breeches. “Lissa, my dear. Right now Brady is safe. All of you are safe. But if I tarry, that might change. And I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that if…if I had been there, with my husband, perhaps I could have saved him.”

Mother said nothing. Mother understood. And so did Owain.

“I can look after Chrom,” Maribelle offered. “Gods know the lunkhead needs it.”

“Look after yourself, too,” Mother begged. “Please. I know I’d be useless even if I _could_ leave, but if I were able to go with you—”

Maribelle cut her off with a kiss to her brow. “Never let me hear you say that again.”

xxx

She departed the next morning. Mother and Owain were there to see her off at the gate, but they left when Brady burst into tears so that the two could have a moment alone. Owain looked back over his shoulder as Mother pulled him off by the hand. Maribelle wasn’t reprimanding Brady for his tears as she usually did. She was on her knees and hugging him very, very tightly.

“We’re going to be taking care of Brady until she returns, okay, Owain?” Mother put a bit of a spring into her step. “She’ll be back in no time; you know nothing can stop your Aunt Maribelle. But I want you to be very sweet to Brady, because he’ll be very worried. You should leave him alone today, I think, but I’m sure he’ll come around for dinner and we can all eat together.”

That sounded rather nice, Owain had to admit. But supper time came and went and Brady never came by, and then darkness fell.

“Definitely time to go looking for him,” Mother muttered to herself from her usual perch at the window seat. At first Owain thought she meant Chrom, until he remembered their new charge.  

“I’ll find him,” Owain promised. “We’ll be right back.”

Owain scoured the entire castle but couldn’t find him anywhere: not in his room or Aunt Maribelle’s, not in the kitchens, not even by the healer’s ward where he spent his days doggedly following the priests and clerics and learning how to bandage and stitch. Heart now pounding, Owain sprinted out through the courtyard, over the drawbridge, and into the town, calling like a madman: “Brady?  _Brady?_ Brady!”

An hour later, when he was exhausted and in the low part of town where Lon’qu lived, and had narrowly dodged the contents of someone’s chamber pot being poured from a window, he finally spotted him: in his white apprentice robes, hunched over something in an alleyway, shoulders shaking.

“Brady!” he cried as he approached. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Aren’t you hungry?”

His friend flinched away, clutching the healing staff that had been cut to fit his small frame. “Leave me alone, willya!”

“Come on. You have to eat. What’s this?” Owain crouched to see what Brady had huddled over and found a bedraggled black cat that had clearly lost a fight. It was licking some of its wounds, but some were newly healed. He pardoned his mental weakness when the name of his first emotion came to mind as an old cliché: a melting heart. “That’s what you’ve been doing all night?”

“I’ve gotta keep my mind off things somehow,” Brady sniffed.

“I’ll help. You keep healing, I’ll tell a story.”

“I don’t want to hear any stupid—”

“Once upon a time!” Owain began grandly, throwing out his arms. “There was a mighty hero named Brady! And he traveled the world with his trusty companion…” He cast his eyes about for inspiration and they landed on the black cat. “Shadowclaw, the Night Tiger!”

The longer he rambled, getting rather into his own tale, the more Brady calmed down. It was extremely late by the time the cat licked their knees in thanks and wandered off, but Owain was feeling so delighted by the plot twists he had invented that he didn’t realize how angry Mother would be until they returned and saw her waiting in the window seat with her arms folded.

Owain tried a grin and gestured grandly to Brady. "Lo, I was victorious!"

"Young man! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

He opened his mouth for something clever, like _Lecture Time!_ , but she was already going strong:

"As if I need one more thing to worry about! I thought you'd both gotten lost or hurt or worse! I was frantic! You're lucky I don't ground you both for life."

"You won't?" Owain asked, so surprised that all wit slipped back down his throat.

"No," said a deep voice from behind him. He and Brady squeaked and whirled to find Lon'qu behind the door, arms folded, looking amused. Mother laughed so hard she almost fell out of the window seat.

"Oh gods, your little faces! Lon'qu, I told you lurking back there would scare them!"

"What are you doing here?" Owain managed to ask.

"You both were in my district. I happened to spot you out so late, figured your mother was worried, and decided I should inform her that you were still alive."

"I would have felt better if you'd stayed with them," said Mother, but he only snorted.

"Oh? If you had been attacked by a mugger, Owain, what would you have done?"

He didn't even really have to think. "Throw the cat at him. It was hurt, so it would panic and scratch. While he dealt with that, I'd find a piece of wood or something and jab up into his windpipe,"—He made the motion, really into his scenario now—"momentarily winding him and shutting down his muscles, as the body responds to protect itself from neck wounds. And that would buy Hero Brady and I time to run."’

Lon'qu raised his eyebrows to Mother as if to say  _I told you so_ . She sighed. Brady gawked at him and he glared back:  _What, you thought I've been goofing around this entire past year?_

"Well," said Mother, "I'm very glad you're both okay. But you mustn't do anything like that again."

"I promise," he said. Behind him, Lon'qu shifted.

"Well, then, if everything has been resolved..."

"Wait," said Mother. She smiled at him a little from the curtain of her hair. "It's been a really tough day. I was thinking...maybe we should all just relax tonight. Together. Stay up late and play a game or tell scary stories or something."

"All right!" Owain cheered, at the same time Brady asked,

"Like a sleepover?"

"Yes!" she said. "Like a sleepover."

"Absolutely not."

Owain turned around to find Lon'qu flushed, all of a sudden. This time, he was not ignorant. This time he understood.

"You grump," Lissa teased. But Lon'qu just looked at Owain. For a second he thought he should feel threatened or wary, but all that hit him was an odd sort of comfort. In this awkward hesitation, he and Lon’qu were no longer forces at odds: master and student, reticent and talkative, man and boy. Instead they were united in their desire to make Lissa happy, whatever that entailed. Having an ally was so reassuring.

"Master," said Owain. "A sleepover is an essential, ritual bonding between friends."

His reward was a brief, laconic smile. "So it is."

"Sleepover!" Lissa cried, throwing her hands in the air. She was quick to run into her room and Owain and Brady darted in the opposite direction, for Owain's. They dragged off his sheets and quilts, and Brady yanked them into the parlour while Owain carried all the pillows. Once it was all dumped into a soft heap on the floor, they raced each other to the kitchens to find snacks for everyone.

"Let's check on Lucina," Owain said on the way back up, their arms full of sweets. She was surely asleep at this hour, but he would have hated to leave her out, and he knew that with Uncle gone she often went to sleep lonely, even if she pretended that she was just fine. As predicted, she did not answer his knock.

"Sleep well, Exalted Cousin," he said to the door. "Next time you shall join us."

By the time he and Brady re-entered the parlour, the tea table had been moved against the wall to clear a space. Mother was snuggled up on the couch with a pillow and blanket, and Lon'qu was sitting in a nest of the rest of her blankets on the floor, looking thoroughly confused.

"You all go about this with the practice of a drill," he said. "Does this happen...often?"

"It used to," said Mother. "When the war started, we all needed to find little ways to cheer up. So Owain and I hosted a lot of sleepovers for different people. Maribelle said it was bad for her skin to stay up all night, but sometimes she came anyway and made us great tea. And Frederick was always so funny; he kept trying to straighten the wrinkles out of everyone's sheets and threw a big fit if Chrom and I stayed up too late. One time he let me put a bow in his hair, though."

"That was the best," said Owain. "And Uncle told that really scary story that night, remember?"

"Way better than Lucina's stories," said Brady,, and Owain snickered. Lucina's stories were hilarious, but only because they were so terrible. They meandered without plots or morals despite her best efforts and all her jokes fell so flat that she tried to explain them and made it all worse. But they were in tears of laughter by the end of it all, which only encouraged her to tell more stories.

"I am honoured to have been invited, then," said Lon'qu, if bemusedly.

The night was great. Mother told jokes and laughed so hard at them that she snorted, and Owain recounted The Tale of Hero Brady and Shadowclaw the Night Tiger. Lon'qu was quiet, but did retell the Chon'sin fable of the princess in the stars when Owain asked him to, while he and Brady ate so many sweets they had to lie down and groan about it.

"'M sleepy," Brady mumbled.

"You sleep then, Brady, Saviour of Cats. I shall keep watch, ever vigilant!"

"All heroes need sleep," said Mother.

"Not this one!"

That was clearly a lie, though, because he woke in the middle of the night, which meant he'd passed out immediately after trying to refute Mother. The room was pitch black, now. She and Lon'qu were still awake, just whispering.

"He's fine, Lissa. He always manages."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can stop worrying."

"Maribelle will be with him soon."

She was silent for a long time.

"Lissa, are you asleep?"

"Almost. I was saying my prayers, first. But I can do it out loud, if you want to join in."

"You know I don't pray."

"How can you believe in nothing at a time like this? With so many dead or dying?"

"That nothingness is merciful, in death. For years my greatest consolation was knowing beyond a doubt that no matter what... _she_ was at peace."

"Would you rather believe she's at peace or believe she's in paradise?" Mother didn't sound interrogative; merely curious.

"That is obvious. But believing something does not make it so."

"Yes it does," Mother said softly. "We all believed we could win, all those years ago, didn't we?"

"Mm."

"And Chrom always believed he was invincible, if he was fighting to protect the people around him. As long as he can keep going now, we have hope."

"True."

Mother sighed; Owain's eyes had so adjusted to the sparse moonlight that he could see her chest balloon upward under her blanket. "I'm sorry. I bottle things up in front of Owain and Lucina, and then I have nights like this where all I do is fret. You must think I'm so whiny."

"I find you very strong. We all have worries."

"You never tell me yours."

"Why would I burden you further."

"You say you came to be here for Owain and me, but that's not how friendship works. I want to be there for you, too."

At first, Lon'qu did not speak. Owain was very sleepy, but so curious that he blinked hard and willed himself to stay awake. Mother did not press. They were both rewarded when he muttered,

"Before I left Chon'sin, I swore to live as solitary a life as possible. But the older I become...the more this bothers me."

"Silly," she said through a giggle that made both Lon'qu and Owain smile. "You're here now. We won't let you be alone."

Lon'qu flipped his hand over so that it was palm-up, and Mother dangled her arm off the edge of the couch. Her fingertips brushed the center of his palm and stayed there like a dancer alighting from a graceful jump. Owain fell asleep.

He woke up once more, needing to relieve himself, and saw them in the exact same position. But when the dawn sunlight woke him for good, Mother's fingertips hung a half-inch over the carpet and Lon'qu was gone.

xxx

Another week passed, with Owain working twice as hard to make up for the lessons he'd skipped after the sleepover. But on the seventh day, he made it to the courtyard at dawn and Lucina wasn't there.

Lucina did not miss appointments or skip lessons. She did not stay in bed when she was sick. She did not let herself sleep in. She was never late.

Owain dropped his sword in the grass and ran.

_No_ , he chanted in his head like a magic spell,  _no no no no._ It couldn’t be. But the throne room when he reached it was abuzz with courtiers in black. Mother was in the midst of them, clutching a white, bloodstained cape. He ran into her embrace. She made soothing noises like she expected him to burst into tears, but somehow he couldn’t manage it. It wasn’t real, was it?

Uncle was invincible. Mother had believed in him.

“Where’s Lucina?” he asked.

“She ran off to take some time for herself. I want to go after her, but I have to take care of things here, first. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about. A-and you shouldn’t be alone.” Her eyes were dry as always, but her voice was fluttering like a sick bird. “Why don’t you...g-go find Lon’qu and—”

“I’m finding my cousin,” he told her. It would be so easy to run to his teacher and feel safe for a while, especially while Mother was busy hashing out burials and wills, but that would be selfish. As much as he needed a hug, he should be the one bestowing them. He could do that much.

Owain sprinted to Lucina's room, but she wasn't there. Now breathless, he doubled back to Uncle's room as fast as he could. The door was shut tight. He pushed it open.

The formal receiving chamber was empty. The cozy parlour was empty. The study was empty. Cautiously, he pushed open the door to Uncle's room.

Lucina was there, curled up around Falchion on his side of the bed. Her dark hair covered her face. She was very still.

"Hey, cous," he said gently, unsure of how to break the moment with anything but humour. "Cool sword."

"It is mine now, by right." Her voice was thick. "They brought it to me just before dawn. I was in the great hall, about to get to the courtyard and wait for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Don't worry about that," he said.

Gods, the Falchion. It was so huge and heavy looking. Lucina barely had a head's height over it.

"Owain."

"Yes?"

"Owain?"

"I'm here."

"Will you tell me a story?"

He climbed up in bed beside her, intending to hug her from behind since he knew she wasn't going to let go of Falchion, but she surprised him by turning from the sword and holding him instead. She pressed his face into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. He sighed and let it happen. Lucina was always going to be the protector, no matter how much she was hurting. But he could still be the entertainer, even if his heart felt fit to burst with grief. He could still make her smile.

"Once upon a time," he said, "there was a princess named Lucina. She is the hero of our story. And her cousin, the Noble Owain, did deign in his noble nobleness to be her sidekick this time around."

"There," she said in that same watery voice. "That's more like it."

xxx

He told the best story he could, told and told and gave and gave until Lucina fell asleep. Then he untangled himself, stealthy as a shadow, and moved Falchion to the foot of the bed where she couldn't roll over and cut herself on it.

And then he ran.

He sprinted around the corner to his room and collided into something solid.

"Out of my way! Nothing shall keep me from comforting my Exalted Mother in her hour of need!"

Large hands grasped his shoulders to keep him in place.

"Lon'qu? Unhand me! You don't know what horrors have transpired!"

"I do," he said. Sweat trickled from his temples. "All Ylisstol knows; the castle raised a black flag. I ran here when I saw it."

"Then let's go to Mother! Now! I left her to comfort Lucina, but I know she needs us."

"She needs to be alone."

"Have you seen her?"

"No, but I know this much."

Owain started to struggle. "You don't understand! Let me go!"

"Owain—"

"Lon'qu! If I don't have anybody to be strong for, I'm going to..."

It was too late. The spell of his stories had broken. He was no hilarious sidekick hiding in adventures but a nephew in mourning, a future soldier who lost his king before he'd even earned his sword, a boy facing the apocalypse and knowing their greatest hope had fallen. He tried to finish his sentence but only a sob came out instead, and then he ducked his head to hide his tears.

"I-I have awful autumn allergies. Curse their sudden onset!"

"Owain," Lon'qu murmured. "Owain, I understand."

_How could you possibly,_ he wanted to cry, but the Champion pulled him close and the words caught in his throat. He just wept into his stomach.

“Please let go, Lon’qu. Please. I don’t want you to see me like—I promise I’m stronger than this, Master. I haven’t cried since Father died. I can pull it together.” _Just stop being so kind; go back to the gruffness I’m used to._

“Owain,” he said again. “Remember your lessons.”

All that Chon’sin mumbo-jumbo about the power of spirit in an attack, how to hold self-belief in your mind and in your aim. It was so easy for Owain when he was training. But this was worse. Here he was unarmed and unable to hold a single secure thought.

“It’s too hard to concentrate.”

“I don’t want you to concentrate. Strength is not a _level_ that can be obtained, Owain. It is a frame of mind. And no frame of mind can be held indefinitely. That is what you need to remember. Just relax for now. It’s all right.”

So Owain gripped Lon’qu’s coat and cried and let himself be held until the door opened and Mother pulled him away, smiling gently, looking pinched and exhausted but dry-eyed as always.

 


	5. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the Master is brave, the Maid breaks, and the Hero becomes enlightened. (Or at least, enlightened about everything but his silly attack names.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one picks up right where the last chapter left off.

Lon’qu stayed over again that night, on their parlour floor, but when Owain woke from a nightmare, both he and Mother were gone.

 _They’re on the battlements again,_ he knew. Mother’s regular thinking spot. He pulled one of his blankets around him to keep out the wind and snuck after them.

“Thank you,” Mother was saying softly when he reached the outer wall and peeked around it. Surely enough, she was looking out over the grounds, with Lon’qu standing a respectful distance away. His arms were crossed and she was wringing her hands.

“For what?”

“Staying with Owain, and...keeping him outside for a little while. I didn’t want him to see me panic.”

“I figured.”

“It means a lot. I didn’t have to ask; you just knew.”

“You always were more concerned with morale than with your own needs.”

“It was all I could do,” she said. Her voice broke. “All I was good for.”

“Don’t—” he started, but was cut off when she whimpered. “Lissa, please—”

“I-I’m sorry. I thought I had used all my tears up this morning, but…L-Lon’qu, my brother, he…he’s all I had, and...I wasn’t there with him when—”

Owain could only watch, so sick to his stomach that he froze, as Mother broke down. Sank to her elbows on the battlement wall, gripped her hair, and heaved with sobs. He didn’t need to see her face this time to finally have proof of the tears he’d been so certain she couldn’t shed.

Lon’qu reached out a shaking hand, hesitated, and took the slow, even breath he taught Owain to use to quell terror in battle. Then he pulled Mother into a fierce embrace.

She let out a squeak of surprise, but he grit his teeth and squeezed tighter. “D-Don’t move. I-I need a minute.”

“It’s all right. You can let me go.”

“No. I t-told you I could be a brother to you. The offer still stands.”

She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder, shaking again while his shaking slowly subsided. Eventually he brought a hand up to cradle the back of her head.

It did bother Owain, in a way—that he couldn’t be tall enough for her to rest her head on his shoulder. That Father was not alive to hold her tight like the last sister living needed to be held. But he was proud of Lon’qu for finding it in himself to be that person. And he was proud of Mother for finally mourning where someone could see.

xxx

“You are distracted,” Lon’qu said the next afternoon, knocking his wooden blade aside.

“Master, I am afraid your eyes deceive you in your honourable age. My mind cares for nothing but the rush of battle! Careful, for even now my sword hand twitches! Can’t...contain—”

“Stop,” he said flatly as he yanked the sword away. Owain sighed.

“Well...I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. You said you understood.” He forced himself to meet his teacher’s eyes, even though it felt disrespectful. “You once told me you hated ruses, but how can that have been the truth? You don’t know what it’s like to have your father die for you because you were so helpless. Or to have your uncle die in battle, without you, because you weren’t strong enough to be at his side. I’ve been training ceaselessly for more than a year now and I still can’t see any progress and I still get walloped by Lucina no matter what. I’m so weak. And you’re a Feroxi Champion. There’s no way you could understand what it means to watch everything in your life fall apart because you weren’t good enough to stop it from happening.”

Lon’qu exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair. “Gods, I hate telling this story. Sit.”

Owain obeyed and after a moment Lon’qu sat beside him, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I once told you about my dearest friend, Ke’ri. You asked why I left her in Chon’sin and I ignored you, did I not.”

“I guess so.” He’d nearly forgotten after all this time.

“The truth is...I didn’t leave her. She died.”

Owain felt his stomach sink, knowing exactly where this was going, but he couldn’t stop Lon’qu now.

“We were out for a picnic. Her parents didn’t know about me, but she...she never hesitated to slip away. We were always together. We could tell each other anything. Sometimes I wanted to hold her until the breath left my body, and she often reached for my hand. I was too young to be able to put a name to love.”

He paused as if it was difficult to continue, but finally pressed on: “We didn’t see the bandits until it was too late. We ran but they had horses. There were so many men and we clearly had nothing, no weapons, no money at all…” His voice began to shake. “I did everything I could. I fought like a demon, biting and clawing, but I was so useless. When I finally reached her side, someone tried to cut me down, and she moved to take the blow instead. She was the only person who cared for me and that was how I repaid her—she died for me, died in agony. And since they couldn’t take money or her or the clothes she’d bloodied, they simply left us.  If I had been stronger, I could have saved her. I could even have become the man your mother wanted me to be, as my friend: a man with a family, with children, who could shake a woman’s hand and who feared nothing.”

“Gods,” Owain managed. It was all he could say. He was torn between relief, knowing he wasn’t the only one who had to live with such guilt, and the regret that Lon’qu’s story was even more horrific, in its own way.

“Your mother was my retribution.” Lon’qu smiled just slightly. “There was an attempt on her life when I was guarding her, but this time I was strong. A Champion. I killed them all and she escaped without a scratch. It brought me great peace...but it was bitter, too. It was proof that I indeed had the mettle to save Ke’ri. That I was finally worthy of her. But she was already long gone, and it was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Owain. He only raised an eyebrow.

“Was Donnel’s death yours?”

 _It’s not the same,_ he wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t sure why not. Was it possible that they were both blameless?

He wasn’t alone then. All this time, he hadn’t been alone. There was someone who knew his exact pain and who still struggled with it.

For once, there was nothing more he wanted to say. Just knowing was enough.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Lon’qu with his sword hand. “Less talking, more fighting.”

He got a rap on the head with the flat of his teacher’s blade for his impudence, but it was worth it.

xxx

Two months passed, and Owain was more determined to grow than ever. He fought with such intensity that he began to give Lucina a real challenge, and he began landing hits on Lon’qu: nothing life threatening, but each tap to the knuckles or wrist or shoulder was more of a victory than the last. He was hit far less often, too, employing Lucina’s heavy parries with Lon’qu’s quick footwork. His bruises faded.

One day on the sharp line between autumn and winter, Owain made it to the courtyard one afternoon and found Lon’qu simply standing and waiting, rather than stretching and readying himself for their lesson.

“Leave your practice sword,” he said. “From this day onward, this courtyard is the only place you shall need it.”

His fingers loosened on the wooden hilt but he couldn’t make himself let go. “Master, what do you mean?”

“There is little more you can learn from this wooden one. For your lessons to continue, we must go into town and find you a real blade.”

His practice weapon thudded to the ground of its own accord. “Really?!”

“Yes. You’re ready.”

“Ah, Lon’qu!” Right hand shaking with excitement, he made a tight fist with it. “Never before have I felt such adrenaline! On this day, I have been deemed worthy! I, the legendary hero of legend, shall—”

“If we don’t head out now,” Lon’qu said, turning his back, “we won’t have time to come back and spill the first of your arrogant blood, O Legend.”

“You’ll cut me? Holding nothing back?” Owain was quick to sprint after his teacher. “Oh gods, I’m _so excited!_ ”

The rest of the afternoon was spent testing swords at multiple armouries. Short swords, broad swords, hand-and-a-halfs, long and curved blades like Lon’qu’s. Several felt comfortable to Owain, and all were awesome enough to take home in his opinion, but each test left his master unsatisfied. Everything was either too heavy or too straight or too much of a sabre or too thin or too thick or some monstrous combination. He exasperated every merchant and dragged Owain on to the next shop without a word.

“It has to be able to adapt to the Royal, Chon’sin, and Feroxi styles without opening up new weaknesses,” he said as they walked down yet another street. “You will know it when you feel it. I can only guide your hand.”

“My sword hand,” he snickered. “About to use a real sword.”

Lon’qu rolled his eyes and led him into the next shop.

And there it was. Owain knew before he even lifted it. Reinforced steel on a light, curved blade with a wicked point. Room for two hands on the hilt; a slim but wide crossguard. He tested its weight. It felt good. Fast. Reliable.

“This is it,” he said, handing it to Lon’qu. His master took a small, experimental swing of his own and raised his eyebrows.

“It is quite close to mine. Perhaps a little heavier.”

“To parry like Falchion.”  

“You are sure, then?”

“Positive.”

One word, full of purpose, while his mind was busy with a thousand others.

“Master,” he said as they walked back to the castle, his new blade girded around his waist the way Uncle used to do it, “what do I name it?”

“Oh no,” Lon’qu muttered.

“Come on, I need your help! I’m already so torn. Winter’s Razor Edge, perhaps, for the time of year? Blooddrinker? Slash-nado? Get it, it’s like a tornado but with slashes—”

Lon’qu opened his mouth, but by then the revelation had already struck him.

“No wait! I’ve got it! Mystletainn, like the blade of legend!” He drew it and raised it high, hoping to get the sun to glint off it for effect.

“Stop dallying. We’ve got to get back to the courtyard and break it in.”

xxx

The next morning, he and Lucina met with true blades.

Live steel was good for him, he realized as they fought. It made him more vigilant. He made fewer mistakes and was less willing to try silly things.

...With his body. His mouth was another matter entirely.

“I have you now!” he cried as he slashed down hard, forcing her to block and give ground. “Cower before the gleaming wrath of Mystletainn!”

“Of what?” Her concentration broke and a giggle escaped her as she slashed back. He grinned and retreated. Lucina hadn’t smiled since Uncle’s death.  

“Dost thou take issue with its fearsome name? Does terror still your tongue and strike you dumb?”

“That’s so stupid! _Mystletainn?_ ”

“Stupid?” he repeated indignantly. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get to name Falchion yourself!”

“Even if I did, it would have been something better than _Mystletainn_.”

“How dare you! I shall avenge my creative liberties by summoning the power of…the Royal Ending Blow of Ages Past!”

He took a little too long to call out the name of the attack and Lucina side-stepped with a shriek of laughter. As Lon’qu had said, the blade felt right. The movement felt right. Everything felt right for the first time in a long time.

xxx

The book that Brady, Lucina, and the others got him for his birthday had not been forgotten.

Owain had been savouring it, restricting himself to only reading a page each night, so that he could pay attention to the wording of each sentence and appreciate every curl of every illustration. The story was a good one. It had everything: action, adventure, romance and friendship. But best of all was its unique plot for redemption and revenge.

Each day as he opened it, he found himself wondering just how in the world the hero with the magic sword could cleanse his guilt, how he could be worthy of his father’s sacrifice. And then came the night that he reached the final page.

There was no revenge. There was no absolution. The hero became enlightened, instead. He learned to deal with his pain, decided to forget the past, and devoted his magic sword and the skills he learned to protecting the people he loved. The people who were still around to need him.

“Well,” Owain snorted as he slammed the back cover shut, borrowing a phrase Father used to use: “I could’ve told ya that.”

xxx

Two years passed quickly.

Before Owain knew it, he was thirteen. He’d shot up a foot and his arms were thicker. Lon’qu had started supplementing their physical drills with mental ones to hone his instincts. He was taught to meditate, to find his center, to breathe properly, to anticipate an opponent’s movements. Meanwhile, Lucina taught him to hold himself confidently, even aggressively, to intimidate whoever he was matched up against. He still couldn’t beat her or Lon’qu, but he was trouncing squires two years his senior.

The hardest part had been Maribelle’s death. Owain went straight to Brady, who was clutching the staff they brought him in the healing ward—along with a great many wounded soldiers.

“I ain’t gonna cry,” he said through trembling lips. “Ma’d be pissed about it anyway .So get outta here. I’ve got work to do.”

Owain understood, and left to let him tend to the people who needed him.

Lucina still bore a weighty grief in her eyes, but she kept her shoulders back and her chin up. Mother seemed to grow in energy month by month until she flurried around the castle as she used to when Owain was much younger, delegating orders to courtiers and filling vases with flowers. Lon’qu’s rare smiles took on a softness. In the past few weeks, he and Mother began to touch a great deal: little things like brushing fingers or skimming shoulders. It might have made Owain uncomfortable, especially now that he was old enough to understand what such touches should mean, but they went about it with the weary affection of an old couple content to hold hands forever, rather than a man and woman of their age. He supposed it made sense. They were the last adult company they had, and it made them need to cling to each other, even though there was no romance involved.

Or perhaps, he realized as he looked at the man before him, framed by the drawbridge’s gate, they understood a lot faster than he did that this moment was coming. Every little touch had been a goodbye.

Lon’qu looked in their direction but not quite at them, as he always did, and Mother had an arm around Owain’s shoulders. There was an almost awkward silence.

“Do you really have to leave?” Owain blurted. Maybe if he said just the right thing, sweetened his words just enough, this wouldn’t come to pass.

“Aye. Basilio called for me, and I must go.”

“You’d be safer here,” Mother tried.

“But you wouldn’t be, if I stayed. I’m needed. Besides.” He shot them both a smirk. “I can’t let Basilio win the war entirely on his own. I have to get my own share of the glory.”

“Then let me come too.” Owain pulled away from Lissa and took a long stride forward. It was happening all over again: someone he loved dying for him. They all knew Lon’qu was never coming back. Uncle Chrom was dead and the only hope he and Lucina and Brady had rested in themselves. “I can’t let you make this sacrifice. You know why.”

“No. You must stay.”

“But I’m ready!” he cried. “I can do it! I’ve named all my moves and everything.”

“No,” Lon’qu said again. “If the castle is breached, we will need capable warriors inside it.”

 _Think of your mother_ , his eyes said, and Owain could only nod and fall back and promise,

“I won’t let this all go to waste.”

“I know.”

They shared a rough hug and he wasn’t sure who started it. Lon’qu was the one to pull away. Mother hugged him next, even though he stiffened, and pressed a kiss to his cheek that made him flush.

“Come back, okay?” she said. He didn’t nod. Owain knew he couldn’t lie to her.

“Goodbye, Lissa,” he said instead. “Goodbye, Owain.”

He didn’t look back once he turned away, but they watched until they couldn’t see him anymore.

“How about bear for dinner,” Mother quipped lightly, once they were forced to acknowledge that they were alone again.

Owain shook his head. “Potatoes.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The irony of Lucina thinking "Mystletainn" is a stupid name is that in her supports with Owain, she tries to rename Falchion "Pointy Demon-Spanker." 
> 
> I guess technically the story could end here, but...I'm not that mean ;P. There will be an epilogue.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Our Hero has his happy beginning.

“Father! _Father!_ ”

Owain sprinted across the battlefield faster than he’d run for anything in his life. He caught the boy he was looking for around the waist and tackled him to the ground.

“Father, you’re so small! This, I did not expect!”

Owain buried his face in his shoulder with delight—he smelled almost exactly the same!—while Donnel made noises like he was trying to speak. Arms circled him automatically. He was much shorter and thinner and younger than Owain could have imagined, but the bright eyes and the shape of his hands were still familiar.

“Golly,” he finally said, sounding dazed. “After Lucina, we figured we’d find one of our own eventually, but yer more enthusiastic than I thought. That’s your ma’s doin’, I bet.”

“Father, you don’t understand.” Owain just held him tighter, completely ignoring the fact that they were in the dirt. “Seeing you makes it worth it. It gives everything I’ve ever done greater meaning. How often did I sweat and bleed in your name, to become the legendary hero of legend!”

“Uh. The what?” Donnel patted his back a little. “Well, I’m happy to see ya too! But we should get up. We’ve got a battle to finish. And we’ve gotta introduce ya to your ma!”

“Yes, of course! I just had to, er, show you my might first!”

They got to their feet, and Owain felt his right hand twitch as the sunlight hit his father.

“Say...that pot...do you mind if I...purely for nostalgia’s sake…”

“Lost yer fancy words, have you?” But Father smiled and put the pot on his head, and Owain grinned the grin that he knew matched.

“Now I am truly invincible! Come, Revered Father! Into the fray! Together! 

xxx

“Owain, you look so silly,” Mother sighed, falling into step with him after the battle. Their introduction on the field had been so easy that it was like no time had passed. The others worried their parents would not accept them, and some, like Gerome, had refused in advance to even call them parents. But Owain knew all along that Mother would be just as she always was. That was the quality of her spirit: unchanging, indomitable. 

“You’re at least going to take the pot off for dinner, right dear?”

“Yes, Mother.”  

“I hope it’s ready soon. I’m starving.” She reached for his hand. “And we’ll get to have dinner together as a family! Even though that’s a really weird thought, it’s really nice!”

“Indeed. But…” Owain pulled away. His heart ached for the family dinners of his early childhood, now suddenly his again, but they would have to wait for now. “I’ll join you, but I’ll be late. There’s something I have to do, first.” 

xxx

He didn’t look nearly as young as Mother and Father did. Owain supposed he’d long ago suffered the hardship that brought tightness into the mouth and adulthood into the eyes.

Lon’qu was practicing even though the battle was over, in a grassy field a good distance from the camp, stabbing through clouds of gnats in the evening gloam—presumably trying not to hurt any of the insects.

Owain clenched and unclenched his right hand as he approached. How would this past Lon’qu stack up? More powerful because of his muscles, in the prime of his youth? Less skilled because he lacked a decade’s wisdom?

Owain wasted no time. Eye contact was made. He sank into a bow.

And then he shouted, drew his blade, and leapt. Lon’qu managed to bring his sheath up and parry just in time.

“What?” he demanded.

“Fight me, Lon’qu! I shall not rest until our blades have met!”

“If it’s a fight you want,” he growled, “you shall have it. I’ll teach you to interrupt my training.”

Steel flashed in the low light as he drew Mantis. Their battle began. 

It was everything Owain could have wanted. The ringing shouts of his attacks confused Lon’qu, but his master’s speed was legendary. Every attack, he had to give his all. Every riposte had to be like lightning. The force of Lon’qu’s strikes on every parry made his arms quiver with effort. And Owain was a grown man, now!

Despite the coolness of the evening, he was soon gasping for breath and ignoring how his sweat tickled his face and neck. Lon’qu looked just as exhausted. They came together with all their strength and their blades locked.

“You have studied in Chon’sin,” Lon’qu accused through narrowed eyes. “I have not fought another on this continent who keeps his blade at such an angle.”

“As sharp an eye as always! Owain the Spectacular is a master of the unexpected. But were you expecting—this!”

He kicked up at Lon’qu’s wrist like a Feroxi might, but his opponent was quick to back away, now obviously incensed. 

“I know that trick!”

“I figured you would,” Owain mused as they circled. “You taught it to me, after all.”

“What? Who are you?"

“Lon’qu, you wound me!” He lowered his sword and spread his arms, inviting the sword master to look. “Does every inch of me not radiate the bright aura of my noble father? My invincible mother?”

Lon’qu lowered his sword too. 

“You’re Lissa’s?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I claim the title of her son most proudly.”

Lon’qu lunged forward again and Owain parried like Lucina had taught him, two-handed, forcing Lon’qu’s sword outward, sliding his own blade down the edge in an unblockable riposte—

Lon’qu was faster, godly fast, darting back before it landed. They paused again to stare each other down and catch their breath.

“I daresay this is a stalemate,” Owain said with a grin. “I shall accept it, if only for today! This is the best I have ever fared against you, Master.”

“Why do you call me that?” he snapped. “I’ve never met you.”

“Not in this time, no. But in the future…” He paused dramatically for the big reveal: “You taught me everything I know of the sword!”

“That does not make sense.” Lon’qu suddenly looked uncertain. “Lissa would not have wanted that. She has told me she wants her children to be scholars or healers. And even if you had talked her into it, Donnel would be a capable teacher.”

“Yes, well.” There was a sudden lump in his throat. Enlightenment aside, some memories had never stopped hurting. “I assume my Exalted cousin has told you at least a bit of our apocalyptic future. Mother never really got to make that choice for me. Not that I minded, of course. I had always dreamed of being one of the avenging, sword-wielding heroes you find in exciting tales. Father would have taught me, when I was old enough, but...he passed when I was ten. Took an arrow for me like a real hero. But then you came to stay with us for a while.”

Lon’qu tensed the way he used to, as if Mother was standing too close. “No. Stop.” 

“What have I said wrong?”

“That can not be true. If you were ten, then it had been over a decade…” He clutched the front of his shirt. “You must be lying. You seem like one to spin tall tales.”

“The tallest,” Owain assured him. “But this is no falsehood. I know that you feel for my mother, and—”

“You—!”

“I know about Ke’ri.” 

Lon’qu froze and Owain was utterly unable to read the layers of his glare: shock, fury, shame, but also something he could not put words to.

“Is that proof enough?” Owain ventured gently. “We were very close. We do not have to be close now, but call me not a liar, Master. Slander not my name.”

“Why are we speaking,” Lon’qu demanded through trembling lips. “What do you mean to say.”

“I’d rather hoped to be your harbinger,” Owain admitted. It sounded so cool. “Let me ask—as Mother’s bodyguard, have you had to act in her defense, yet?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “A month ago we were ambushed by archers. She was unharmed.”

“You told me this was a relief to you—a retribution—but also a weighty grief. Because you blamed yourself for not having the strength and skill you have now when Ke’ri needed it. And yet, you told me not to blame myself for Father’s death. If there is any chance that you will heed me: do not be a hypocrite, Lon’qu. You were a boy then, as I was. You might be able to save someone now, but you could not have then, and enlightenment is being able to face that. Do not let this haunt you forever. You are a good man and you deserve happiness.”

The derisive snort he replied with was so familiar. 

“Lon’qu, listen. There is something else I came to tell you. Something even more important.”

Slowly, the jadedness faded from his teacher’s eyes and was replaced with attentiveness.

“You came to take care of us,” said Owain. “To take care of me. And we would have been fine all by ourselves, but you made things so much easier. You were a friend to my mother without ever making her feel like she owed you anything else, and you taught me everything I know about protecting her. That is a kindness I shall never be able to repay.” He extended a hand and smiled. “So, thank you.”

Lon’qu took it and shook it, but raised an eyebrow. “Do you always talk this much?” 

“I fight more, if that makes you feel better.” 

Lon’qu looked confused again, but Owain just snickered at his own joke and took a step back. “I’m going to meet her and Father for dinner, now. But expect my presence again at dawn! I shall not rest until I have defeated you! The pupil shall become the master!”

“I doubt my future self would have allowed that, and so neither shall I.”

Owain sprinted to dinner with a grin.

xxx 

Reuniting with the rest of his friends and family was incredible. He spotted Chrom first and clasped his hand, and the gesture was returned so easily that Owain just knew Chrom had accepted Lucina from the first.

“Owain, then? I see Lissa’s mischief in you very well.”

“Mine uncle! As heroic as ever!” And quite a bit more rugged, out here on the road. Owain was most impressed. A new hand slipped around his elbow and squeezed. 

“What took you so long, Owain? I was worried.”

“Have you not learned, Cousin,” he scoffed as he turned to Lucina, beaming by his side, “that my impenetrable defenses and unsurpassed cunning leave you nothing to worry about?” 

“Well, we found Brady without you, and thought that a little strange.”

“So he’s here!”

Owain tore away from Lucina and sprinted deeper into camp. Her laughter and Uncle’s faded behind him. He didn’t stop until he reached the long tent he knew healers used, to house cots for the wounded, and burst inside.

“Brady of the Moistened Eyes!” 

There he was, in his black robes, folding a length of bandages and talking to—

Owain’s vision was blocked as he was hugged with enough force to knock him a step backward.

“Damn it, you! Always bursting in unannounced after Lucina and I are left wonderin’ where your fool head could be!”

For a tenth of a second, the barest fraction, he thought it was Brady’s arms around him. Who else could hug with such ferocity, such steely strength? But the arms were too small, and there was suddenly quite a lot of blonde hair in his face.

“A child of Lissa’s is a child of mine,” she said. “Brady has told me so much about you.”

“Aunt Maribelle!” he replied as he hugged her back just as tightly. There was the unmistakable sound of Brady sniffling and then banging around several jars of salve, as if reorganizing them, in order to disguise it.

 xxx

The rest of dinner was a blur of introductions and reunions and cathartic moments. Sir Frederick, just as tall as Owain remembered but without any grey in his hair, scraped the rest of his plate onto Mother’s when she complained that Chrom had stolen her second helping. A couple of the knights he remembered from when he was very small, one in red and one in green, were trading stories about his beloved Aunt Emmeryn. Gerome’s mother had done the cooking and it was incredible. 

Owain wiggled a little, firmly seated between Mother and Father, with Brady and Aunt Maribelle just across the table

“This day will be one for the ages, O Priest,” he said. “I shall write of our exploits at great length.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “You still keep up with that ol’ manual of yours?”

“That manual is made to teach justice and heroism,” Owain insisted indignantly. “No, this is a different project entirely. An epic tale like the one you all gave me on my birthday."

“And the title: lemme guess. Something stupid.” 

“Tales o’ the Time-Travelin’ Hero,” Father suggested.

“The Adventures of the Biggest Dweeb,” supplied Mother. 

“Once Upon a Time in the Past!” Lucina called down from closer to the head of the table--in earnest, which made it all the worse.

“Argh, mock me not!” Owain slammed his sword fist down on the table. “It will have an epic name to match my epic lifestyle!”

“Saga of the Scion,” said Brady, mimicking his grandiose voice. But Owain pointed at him.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

They ate and spoke and laughed long into the night. In the darkness, Owain stood in the doorway of his tent for a while and watched the candles being blown out in Uncle’s, in Lucina’s, in Mother’s and Father’s. Then he smiled and went to sleep himself, completely at ease for the first time in years. He would need all his strength at dawn, when he went to fight with Lon’qu again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a lot longer than I thought to write. This story as a whole also had way more readers than I expected, especially for a gen fic! Thanks again to Jack and Roe for letting me borrow your ideas, and to everyone else for all your encouragement!


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